


As Seen Through the Lens

by creative_frequency



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, F/M, Ravus is a model, Reader is a professional photographer, Romance, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 14:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16451936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creative_frequency/pseuds/creative_frequency
Summary: You're a professional fashion photographer, a rising star in the industry. Ravus is a famous model and everyone wants to work with him - no matter how difficult it is.





	As Seen Through the Lens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lucianhuntress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucianhuntress/gifts).



> Find all my ffxv stuff at [creative-frequency.tumblr.com](http://creative-frequency.tumblr.com)
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The setting with a white backdrop is in place and the lights are ready; the crew is anxiously waiting for the last person to arrive, but no one is more nervous than you.

It’s your big chance. Whether it’ll be a hit or miss shall be decided in the upcoming weeks.

For the umpteenth time, you gaze through the view finder and check the settings. The digital SLR camera in your hands is relatively new but already pricelessly dear. It has served you well ever since you bought it with the money from your first job as a professional photographer. After that, your career has been in a scary steep uphill.

It’s something about the unexpected angles you find, they say, a fresh breeze in the world of fashion photography. If the amount of work you have been offered recently is any indication, they are right.

The theme of the photo shoot is “the void”, which definitely was not decided by you, but you have to make do with what you’re given.

The crew is getting restless as the scheduled moment is approaching. You’ve heard a lot of rumors concerning this particular model and his working manners – and the lack of them.

On your way to the studio in the morning, you saw the huge advertisement featuring him on the wall of one fashion department store. It made you smile from ear to ear and already set the steady, nervous rhythm of your heart beats. It would be vital to make a good impression on him.

While only half listening to the chattering of the crew around you, you go through the list ideas in your mind. The theme is challenging even with the one of the best models available. You can only hope you’ll need to get used to working with such people. Even the studio is more prestigious and spacious than the ones where you usually work in.

“They’re here!” One of the extras runs in and everyone stiffens, but excited murmuring soon follows. You turn to look, filled with curiosity.

An agent in a boring suit strides in, making a beeline to the studio owner’s office. He politely nods to everyone as he passes by.

Then _he_ walks in and you forget how to breathe.

Ravus Nox Fleuret, or as some people call him: Lord Ravus. Tall, sharp fashion sense, amazing body, silvery hair, illegally handsome features and a serious case of resting bitch face – that is your first impression of the man. Especially the part about his divine looks. Of course you’ve seen pictures of him, but they could never do justice for the real deal.

As everyone in the room turns to look at you for guidance, your attention is drawn to Ravus’s eyes. They’re pale blue, cold but inspecting. Calculating, even. Like deep pools of ice cold, clear water. Diving in would be perilous, probably life threatening.

You walk over to him and stretch out your hand, hoping Ravus won’t notice it slightly shaking. The camera is hanging around your neck as a telltale signal of your status.

“Nice to meet you. My name is–”

“Let’s begin.” Ravus barely glances at you.

_So the rumors are true._

Disappointment washes over you, but you shrug off his attitude as occupational hazard.

While Ravus is changing and getting his makeup done, the crew skitters to their places around the setting and you begin to peer through the lens. It’s your comfort zone, the place where you’re truly in your element. No matter who or what the subject is, it’s easy to put on the mask of a professional and focus only on finding the best angle, to crop the world in a way that shows only the aesthetic.

When Ravus emerges from the changing room, your breath is stolen away again. Your hands shake as you lift the camera again and you tell yourself it's only because of the opportunity, not the man in front of you, looking at you intently with an expecting look on his gorgeous face.

“Let’s start from here, please,” you say and begin to explain your vision.

Ravus is dressed in white slacks and the sleeves of his white shirt are rolled to forearms. He looks so beautiful you continuously forget what you were about to say, making your practiced speech a stuttering mess.

But Ravus listens with a neutral expression, only nodding as a signal of comprehension.

And so you begin to snap away, diving deep into the flow of work. Each time your thoughts try to stray to the wrong tracks around Ravus’s looks, another work-related matter requires your attention. Most of the time it’s him ignoring your instructions. You don’t want to chide the super model, but he seems to think he knows better what looks good through the camera.

“Okay look,” you say sharply after a few more shots and stride over to stick the LCD display to Ravus’s face, “Let’s do this one, but turn your head more like this. And I want your eyes directly on me.”

You can feel the crowd around go rigid. Ravus’s eyes widen only for a fleeting second before he looks at you completely expressionless.

“Understood,” is all he says in an even tone.

After that he follows your instructions to a tee. The work flows effortlessly as Ravus interprets your wishes into amazing poses that you immortalize on film. You’re elated at how easy he is to work with, even though his attitude could be better. _The perks of working with a real professional_ , you think

“Alright! I think we're done,” you get to say after the setting has been changed three times and you’ve had two coffee breaks.

Ravus climbs up from the platform in the middle of small fog machines. The crew members in charge of fanning the smoke heave relieved sighs.

“Show me,” Ravus says as he saunters over to you.

You take the camera from around your neck and turn the laptop screen towards him. The photos are directly transferred from the camera into the computer. As Ravus examines the photos, you get to stare.

People look different through the lens than with the naked eye, at least for you. You always seem to notice different features depending on the context. Looking through the camera, it’s all about finding that one perfect shot. In real life, you see the whole picture come alive. That is why photos can’t do justice to Ravus.

Ravus’s nose and cheekbones are almost too sharp, there is an eternal frown on his lips and his lashes are to die for. You’re surprised to catch yourself wanting to drag your fingers through his partly combed back hair. It’s hard to imagine him laughing or even smiling. Everything in his seemingly phlegmatic nature still screams competence – he is not a diva, but a demanding professional.

Ravus doesn’t comment any of the pictures specifically and you start to feel more nervous the longer he scrolls onwards.

“So umm…” you start.

He looks up from the screen.

“Good work,” he says. No smile. Not even an approving nod.

“Uh, you too!” you yelp after him as he has already paced away from the set and you feel like a complete idiot.

 

### Three weeks later

The Fashion Week of Insomnia – simultaneous heaven and hell on Eos for you, but also a dream come true.

Letting your gaze wander around the elite club filled with famous models, actors, musicians and other members of high society, you can’t help but feel a little out of place. You take a sip from the flashy drink in your hand. Scanning the crowd for someone you know is futile. Every citizen of Eos would find someone they recognize in there.

The evening moves forward slowly with casual, pleasant chit chat with the only three people you know well enough to greet. You have just laid the empty glass on the nearest surface and started to look for the bar, when someone talks to you.

“You – come here.”

At the commanding tone you turn to see Ravus Nox Fleuret, looking as perfect and untouchable as always. An uncomfortable flip of your heart jams any kind of greeting into your throat. He looks at you expectantly.

“Where?” you manage and take a hesitant step.

Ravus begins to stride away without answering and you have no choice but to follow him.

“Here she is,” he says to someone, an outstretched arm waiting to circle around your waist as soon as you reach him. Your heart makes another violent flip and for a second you’re afraid that your legs will give out.

_What the hell is he doing?!_

“Ooh, so this is _her_.”

The voice tears your attention off Ravus. You gape in confusion at the two extremely beautiful women standing in front of you. They’re sizing you up with their judgmental, but curious gazes.

You recognize the women instantly. The one with the red hair is Honoria Curatrix, the daughter of a famous business tycoon. She has had her fair share of posing as the cover girl for several big magazines. Honoria holds the status of a lifestyle idol and you too have read her interviews on how a single woman can be strong, independent and successful on her own. She’s an inspiration to all women.

The other woman makes your inner fan girl squeal. She is Caitlin Felineia, a famous actress who mostly does action movies. You’ve been a huge fan of hers ever since her first movie, The Lucian Huntress, came out a few years ago.

They both are famous, wealthy, tall and so beautiful you want to cower before them. Even their gowns are sexy but tasteful, showing off their best sides.

“Yes, we are going out. Do you believe me now?” Ravus asks coolly.

Your head snaps up to look at him.

_WE ARE WHAT NOW?_

Honoria and Caitlin giggle good-naturedly in well concealed vexation, but you’re having a hard time focusing on their reactions after what came out of Ravus’s mouth. Your jaw must be hitting the floor because he shoots a crushing glare at you – with a fake smile plastered on his lips. His grip on your waist tightens slightly and your already fluttering heart is about to stop functioning for good.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Honoria says and glances at Ravus with a beaming smile on her red lips. “I _need_ to know how you managed to snatch him,” she says to you.

_Snatch?_

“Uh, pleasure to meet you too?” Your bemusement and admiration is so evident in the tone that Ravus squeezes your waist gently, but firmly. Heat creeps up your neck. It would be way easier to go with the situation if he wasn’t so damn close.

“So how long have you been together?” Caitlin asks with a glint in her eyes. “Can’t imagine it’s been long since he’s been hiding you from the public.” She laughs, but the sound breaks a cold sweat off your skin.

All you manage is a nervous, forced chortle and a puppy-eyed look at your “boyfriend”. Even if you had an idea about what’s going on, you’re not an actress enough to fool a real one.

“About three weeks,” Ravus says matter-of-factly. It’s amazing how he can sound so disinterested, but convincing.

“Y-yeah. We met in that photo shoot for The Astral,” you speak without realizing what’s coming out of your mouth. It’s not even a lie. The corner of Ravus’s mouth makes a tiny, approving tug upwards.

 _You, sir, owe me one hell of an explanation_ , you think.

Honoria and Caitlin trade awed looks. The Astral is a high quality fashion magazine featuring only the most trending photographers and their subjects. You still can’t believe it yourself that your photos will be published in the pages of its next month issue.

“Oh, that explains everything!” Caitlin says with a nod. Her attitude towards you warms up several degrees.

“Yes, she took the photos for my interview.” Ravus almost grimaces at the word “interview”. Everyone knows he would much rather just be looked at than getting asked stupid questions about his career and romantic preferences.

“Really? I can’t wait to see them. You must be really talented.” Even Honoria sounds impressed.

“Ah, thank you…” Your smile is a genuine one this time.

Ravus’s arm around your waist loosens and retracts. You look at him, already missing the pressuring warmth, but his attention is on the other two women.

“Please tell me you made him pose shirtless,” Honoria laughs and Caitlin follows in suit.

You don’t get the chance to reply besides joining in their giggling, when Ravus hums in forced amusement and rains on the ladies’ parade.

“If you’ll excuse us now…” he says in a polite tone.

You don’t even realize Ravus is holding your hand before he is already dragging you away from the two actual goddesses.

“What was that?” you ask as soon as you’re out of earshot.

Ravus navigates through the crowd without answering your question. You try to look natural while keeping up with him. Your heart is thumping anxiously and your pulse is higher than what is comfortable. Several people do a double take after seeing you two stride past them.

He drags you outside the club, into the nightly rain of flashing camera lights, clicking sounds and yelled questions from nosy reporters. You want to dig your heels into the pavement, but the situation is so surreal it’s rendering you too stunned to act.

The shouts of the reporters only increase in volume and enthusiasm when Ravus practically pushes you into a car’s front seat and walks around to the other side to drive.

When the motor roars and the club is left behind, you snap out of it.

“W-what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you yelp. A panic starts to rear its head inside you. “Everyone saw us together!”

Ravus sighs in exasperation. There isn’t much traffic, but he has to stop at a red light. He turns to shoot one of those commanding, silencing looks at you.

“Let me out. Now,” you demand in a restrained tone, wildly trying to think what he is planning to do with you.

“I can’t do that,” Ravus replies and the car shoots forward from the crossroads.

“What?! Why not?”

“Calm down. I need you to come with me,” he continues. His voice falters uncharacteristically just slightly enough to pique your interest and raise million more questions.

“Don’t you care that those photos are gonna be all over every rag on the continent tomorrow?” you ask both irritated at Ravus’s unwillingness to explain himself and afraid of what’s going to happen.

“…That’s the point. And also why I need you to come with me for now,” he only says.

You lean back in the seat and pinch the bridge of your nose. The alcohol in your blood is unfortunately declining. The pleasant buzz you had managed to reach at the party is gone with the shock.

“What _point_?” you ask once more.

Ravus holds back another heavy sigh, but you can almost hear how he grinds his teeth together.

“Where do you think the reporters are going to be waiting when they saw us leave?” he asks pointedly, and it all becomes clear to you. They’re going to be like flies on a dung pile at his doorstep.

“We are going to _your_ house? Oh-ho-ho, nooo way. I need to get out. Now. I’m done. SO done…” Your voice drops into muttering under your breath. Your head is spinning, no thanks to the drinks you had at the club. Things with Ravus are advancing way too fast and not at all in the manner were you imagining.

“ _Please._ ” Ravus doesn’t look at you when the unexpected word slips from his lips.

_That’s so low._

You groan out loud in a very unladylike manner. “Okay fine. I think I get why you’re doing this. But you owe me big time.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be beneficial for your career,” Ravus says dryly.

Your head snaps to stare furiously at him. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

Ravus barely spares a glance at your ire. “To get a name for yourself,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and he is explaining it to a child.

“What, pray tell, makes you think I _need your help_?” You spit the last words through gritted teeth.

You already regret ever meeting the man. How could you have been so excited to get to photograph _the famous Lord Ravus_? He is a frigid jerk; rude as hell with no comprehension on how to act around people. With a definite inward snort you decide divine looks are everything he has. And he is good at tricking people with them.

Ravus apparently deems it best not to start arguing with you since he doesn’t reply. He just focuses on driving.

It’s silent for a few minutes while you’re fuming from rage towards an undecided target: You feel like an idiot at allowing yourself to be dragged along like that, but also want to strangle _someone_.

“You can call a cab after a few hours,” Ravus finally says, sounding like he is deep in thought.

“UM. No? I’m gonna get as far away as possible from you the second the car stops,” you declare.

The car halts at another red light. Ravus turns to look at you expressionlessly.

“…Like, when we _actually_ stop,” you mumble and turn away to hide your flustering that already deadened the brunt of your rage.

As expected, the sidewalk outside his house is crawling with paparazzi. You sink into the seat, mouthing prayers to the Astrals above, but Ravus just calmly drives the car inside the gates that open at the press of a button on a remote controller. Instead of driving the car into the garage, he parks it on the front yard. The crowd at the street has a nice, clear view.

“I hate you for this,” you mutter as you mentally prepare yourself to get out, “Isn’t it enough that they see me going inside with you?”

You try the handle, but the doors are still locked. Ravus is staring at you.

“What?” you bark, nervous and annoyed.

“Every female celebrity I meet asks me out. I’m tired of it.” His tone is earnest.

You let out an awkward chuckle. _This is so fucking surreal_.

“They obviously don’t know what they’re asking for.” You restrain yourself for adding “Since you’re a jerk,” to the end of the sentence.

“Maybe. I’m sorry to do this without asking you, but I… got fed up at the party,” Ravus says, looking away.

Your pulse is quickening again as you peek carefully at the perfectly sculptured cheekbones, veiled in thin pink blush. If that tells you anything, it’s that Ravus _hates_ to ask for help. You have to admit its endearing before you can stop that train of thought.

“I get that. I really do… _in a way_ ,” you add when Ravus cocks an eyebrow at you. The reporters are shouting outside. You slump against the seat with a groan. “Fine. I’ll help you.”

“Thank–”

“But,” you lift a finger in the air and shake it at him angrily, “I wasn’t kidding when I said you owe me.”

Ravus sighs, not as exasperated as earlier. There is almost a detectable smile on his face. “If you need a model for a job…”

“Deal.” You hastily extend your hand to seal the deal. The shouts of the paparazzi outside are getting louder. They’re probably wondering what the hell you’re doing in the car.

Ravus takes your hand and you jolt involuntarily. The touch is electrifying and makes a tingle shoot up your spine, all the way up to your cheeks and ears. A shiver follows it. Your heart beats more rapidly. Ravus doesn’t let go and for a moment your imagination runs wild and you think he will pull you against him and–

“Let’s go.” He exits the car and circles around to open your door.

The burst of flashlights is blinding. Ravus has his arm protectively around your waist as he leads you towards the entrance, all the while murmuring for you to ignore the reporters. Even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t be able to focus on much else than your fluttering heart and Ravus’s body touching yours – listening to his voice, his breath tickling your ear and his touch burning you even over your clothes. You realize you left your coat at the club.

The moment the door shuts his warmth abandons you. You stand in the foyer, dizzy and unsure what to do.

“Come in. You can do whatever you want here. Eat something if you like. There’s money for a cab on the side table.” Ravus takes off his jacket as he talks, and you meekly follow him to the living room.

The single storey house is so amazing it almost steals your attention from the divine-looking man. The furniture is modern, minimalistic even. Everything looks new and expensive and you’re afraid to touch anything without explicit permission. The floors are dark but everything else is in light, cold shades. The living room expands into the kitchen area with a counter dividing them.

The back wall is taller than the house front and it has wall-high windows. The view lets into the garden, but right now the windows are dimmed for the night and overly-eager paparazzos.

“Okay…” you say, wondering did Ravus hire an interior designer for the job or does he have another hidden talent.

Ravus paces straight to double doors at the right side of the room. “I’m going to bed,” he informs you.

“W-what?”

“When you leave, please do so quietly. Goodnight.”

The door slams shut after Ravus and you’re left staring at it incredulously.

“Goodnight?”

You’re standing in the middle of an unfamiliar room in a weird house owned by one of Insomnia’s most wanted super models, left to wonder how the hell your night ended up here.

It’s almost midnight. You slump down on the couch and groan _quietly_ in frustration. Since you’re not allowed to leave until few hours and you’re scared to touch the television, you might as well rest too.

You start winning arguments in your head against Ravus and without realizing or your consent, you fall asleep.

What finally wakes you is an unfamiliar sensation of pressure on your cheek and the blinding eruption of light that follows soon after. When you turn to nuzzle your face against the couch pillows, your neck creaks and you wail in pain.

After a short empirical examination you come to grasp that your whole upper back hurts. You must have slept in a weird position by accidentally falling asleep.

“What time is it?” Your voice is muffled against the pillow. Light footsteps tap past you and slow down. Something clacks against a hard surface – a cup on a table.

“Nine.”

_Fuck._

You don’t want to look up. You’re still wearing the dress from the previous evening and you didn’t wash your makeup. Whatever the cost, you need a way to sneak out without anyone, especially Ravus, seeing.

“I made coffee,” Ravus says somewhere close.

Your hair must be a mess too. The stinging neck pain is nothing compared to the embarrassment. Why didn’t you try to stay awake harder and leave during the night? What a way to spend a night at a guy’s place.

“Are you going to get up? I need to go soon.” Ravus sounds annoyed.

You slowly pull the pillow from under your face and clutch it against your chest. While still lying down, you turn to your side just enough to see the radiant morning and the man-shaped storm cloud in the middle of it all.

Ravus’s sharp blue eyes are examining you. He sits in the armchair, already looking like he is going to walk into a photo shoot. His fingers are intertwined, elbows leaning on his knees and brows lightly creased.

You try to blink the grogginess away.

“Sorry,” you say, voice hoarse and clear your throat.

The corner of Ravus’s mouth curves up into a crooked smirk and you want to die of shame. Seems like the only thing making him smile in your company, is seeing you suffer.

“Take a shower and call a cab. I left some clothes in there for you.” Ravus gets up from the chair. “And make sure you lock the door when you leave.”

“H-hold on. Where are you going?” you splutter hastily and turn to look after him.

“To work. There are reporters still outside.” Ravus grabs a jacket that was hanging over a chair back and pulls it on.

You groan loudly. “Is there, uh, another way out?”

“Does it matter if they see you leaving now instead of last night?” he asks amused and steps outside the room.

“Whatever!” you shout after him and bury your face into your palms.

Before exiting the house, you leave an angry note on the kitchen table, written in caps lock, and your business card next to it.

 _YOU OWE ME._  
WE NEED TO TALK.  
CALL ME.  
JERK.  
\- xoxo

 

### The following day

Fully engrossed with staring into the distance out of the train window, it takes another passenger’s curious looks for you to realize your phone is ringing.

You hastily scramble the vibrating device from your pocket and glance at the screen. Unknown caller. Before your brains can catch up, your heart jumps with a nervous sting.

“Hello?” you answer the call.

_“Hello, ‘jerk’.”_

You blink in utter confusion before bursting into a shriek, startling the person sitting across the aisle. “THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT AND YOU KNOW IT. Gods, I hate you so much–”

Laughter from the other end of the call makes you stop screaming abruptly.

 _“Have you had lunch yet?”_ Ravus asks.

As if on que, your stomach reminds you of its existence and emptiness with an audible growl. You bend slightly, trying to hush the sounds.

“Umm, no?” you say cautiously.

Half an hour later, you have postponed your shopping trip for a lunch with a man whose couch you have slept on without any ulterior motives.

The lunch place is one of those super fancy and expensive cafeterias in the centrum you have never visited – and it’s in the top floor of a skyscraper. Ignoring how out of place you must look in your everyday clothes, you start searching for Ravus before someone from the staff comes to guide you out.

The place is filled with people in classy suits and office getups. You hear foreign languages in the murmured chatter among the soft jazz beats that are playing on the background. With each step your nervousness grows and you clutch your bag tighter.

Maybe it’s just curiosity getting the best of you, but you really cannot imagine a scenario where you would decline an invitation to have lunch with Ravus Nox Fleuret. A connection to him is extremely beneficial in your line of work, but somehow you can’t force yourself to think like that.

Naturally, Ravus sits in a corner by the windows, his sharp profile visible from your position.

Your breath hitches in your throat and you wish you could take a photo of him right now; he looks ethereal with his hair tied on a bun, wearing a casual sweater, actual jeans and black wayfarer glasses. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him with glasses on.

“Are those real?” you say in a greeting and mentally facepalm. So much for being suave and attractive.

Ravus turns to look at you and if you squint, you can distinguish a hint of smile on his lips.

“For reading,” he says and takes a pause, “Thank you for coming.”

You sit down, thankfully without tumbling over your feet and try to force your rabidly beating heart to calm down. “Well, you did mention food.”

Ravus lets out an amused scoff and motions for a waiter to come over. He probably had told them he was expecting company.

“Order what you like. My treat,” he says.

“Thanks…” you mumble as you begin to scan over the menu.

It appears to be an Altissian place, serving delicacies you’ve never heard of, which leads to you just ordering whatever the waiter recommends and has a salad among the ingredients.

“So how did work go?” you ask to fill the silence and interrupt Ravus’s dreamy staring out of the window. He is frustratingly disinterested in your presence.

His pale blue eyes turn to you with a look of surprise and confusion in them.

“Yesterday,” you explain, “you said you were going to work.”

“It went well.”

“Ah. Good.”

And the conversation dies down. You resist the urge to take out your phone and resort to stealing glances at Ravus. It’s weird how different but yet ridiculously good he looks in a more laidback outfit. Assumedly, it works as a disguise too as no one would expect to see Lord Ravus in jeans, walking down the street among mere mortals.

The food arrives, but even though you dig in eagerly, it’s hard to focus on what your taste buds are doing.

“Did you have a reason to invite me for a lunch or..?” you ask because the silence is getting unbearable. Your nerves are making it impossible to enjoy the colorful cuisine.

“Actually yes,” Ravus sighs and sets the tableware down to focus completely on you.

You can’t help but swallow, though your heart obstinately declines to return to its place.

“Which is?” you urge.

“I need another favor.”

“Oh, so you’re actually going to ask this time,” you quip before you can stop yourself, but Ravus doesn’t pay attention to your sass.

“There is a party this Saturday,” he begins and you’re scared you’re going to faint thanks to your fluttering heart and breathing difficulties, “and I would like for you to accompany me.”

“H-hold on now,” you motion for him to stop speaking, “you want _me_ as your avec? What’s the party for? Is this one of your ‘I need a fake girlfriend’ things? What would I even wear?” Unstoppable questions flood from your mouth.

“It’s a designer event. I won’t be on stage, but I’ve been invited nonetheless,” Ravus examines you for a moment as if deciding what the best approach would be. “It would be a good opportunity for you to make friends.”

You swat the superficial benefits away. “And?”

“Yes, I’d like you to act as if we were dating.” He says it so coolly that you feel the need to lie down. Heat creeps up to your cheeks and your hands are shaking.

_This is not really happening._

“And uhm, what would _that_ contain? I just hang on your arm and smile?” you ask but your mind is running rampant with lewd scenarios.

Ravus smirks lightly. “Precisely so. What did you _think_ it would contain?”

You choke on your food. Ravus Nox Fleuret is actually teasing you. He knows exactly what his crooked smile does to you. You hope your face isn’t bright red.

“Come to my place around five and we’ll get you ready for the party,” he says casually.

“Who’s going to do my makeup and hair then?” you inquire.

Ravus cocks a perfectly styled eyebrow. “Me.”

“Oh.”

It’s easy to forget that even though he is where he is now, Ravus probably had to learn to do hair and makeup on his own at some point.

“I’ll find you something to wear too,” he continues.

“Okay… but I haven’t said I’ll do it.”

Ravus looks directly into your eyes and your heart makes another leap. It’s unfair.

“Will you help me?” he asks in an earnest tone, reminding you of what he said in the car. He _needed_ you. Even if it was just to provide a moment of peace.

You drown in the deep blue pools before giving a faint nod.


End file.
